Fire and Misery
by Burden
Summary: Amidst the drums of war and blood of battle, emotions are best kept hidden. Because when they show, the consequences could be dire... But no one told them that. .:- EragonxMurtagh, MurtaghxEragon Incest/Slash -:.
1. Arms of Sorrow

|| -Superflyingtacklepounces Murtagh- I LUFF HEEM.

O__O Oh…Heh, hi, guys. Didn't see you there…  
WELL THANNN. Here is my first step into my new obsession, The Inheritance Cycle~! :D I love it. They're the best books evah…SMeyer has nothing on Chrissy P! ^_^

H'okay. NAO WE R GO ON 2 THE SRZ BIZNESZ.

They story is EragonxMurtagh, the only acceptable Inheritance pairing, for serious. And there's not enough fics around these parts of these two.

So, this first part takes place near the late beginning/early middle of the book, while Eragon is fleeing from Helgrind and met Arya at Eastcroft. Now they are in the forest, blah. Sitting, blah. Murtagh is flying, yeey!

Aha, you can see who I prefer out of them all. :D

Anyway, hope you enjoy! I know I had a nice time writing it.

To him, Eragon was a great many things. He was a valiant warrior. He was a troubled boy, haunted by ghosts of his past and present. He was his brother.  
But mostly, to Murtagh, Eragon was a glass of the finest wine, poisoned by droplets of the fatal Seithr Oil. He was wonderful, something Murtagh longed to indulge in. The Rider was sweet, rich, melodious…warm. But the thought was present- as it was always present- that, once he took a drink, the consequences could be, and would be, dire. The world would riot, his soul could catch ablaze, and his full sense of self would be lost to the punishments of the King. And so, Murtagh could never be able to indulge himself in the fineness of the Dragon Rider Eragon, for doing so would prove likely fatal, and perhaps sinful. And Murtagh was a truly twisted man if he wanted to add Eragon's name to the long list of his sins.

The Rider of the Empire was skimming through the clouds on a bed of shimmering ruby scales and, despite his troubling thoughts, enjoyed every exuberant minute of being free, high above the king's reign. Thorn, the young dragon below him, let out a small bellow of approval, for he, too, enjoyed their rare pleasure of flight. The creature sensed and shared in Murtagh's thoughts, but dared not intrude on them, for he hardly understood the concepts his Rider mulled over in his mind. He only beat his wings and dove closer to the ground. It was important to be close to the ground now; they were on patrol, after all.  
Murtagh sighed and scanned the still-faroff land rolling below them, his eyes sharp and wary for the object of their search. Galbatorix had sent them out over his lands to scan the earth for intruders, though the Rider didn't think he could spot a single being that looked out of place from this distance. Perhaps if they were running breakneck speeds across a barren field, then perhaps he could see them.  
Thorn snorted louder then he probably meant to._ Then perhaps we should land.  
Perhaps. For a while, anyway._

Thorn dipped low, almost touching land, and skimmed over the surface of a large body of water like a water-skater glides the width of a puddle. Murtagh couldn't help but smile as stray drops of water hit his face when Thorn's claws grazed the surface. These were the times he felt truly free, free of the King's grasp, free of everything. He felt so liberated, so himself.  
Maybe Eragon felt like this when he flew, as well.

"Adurna, Risa." Water from the large body began to gather underneath the large body, forming a shapeless blob until he directed it to the fairly large waterskin atop the bushel of supplies tied to Thorn. Releasing the magic and guiding the water inside, he turned back to the front, assuming his past happiness once again.  
The dragon was nearing the edge of the water, which both Thorn and Murtagh had identified as Tiidosten Lake. He pulled up then, his tail brushing the sandy edge of the lake. Flapping his wings and gaining altitude once more, Thorn turned his cat-like eyes around to search for a spot where he could land in solitude. He chose an expanse of trees to the west, and turned and headed there, crossing the main roads littered with Empire soldiers and refugees.

XX---XX

Eragon stretched at his place near the fire, glancing over at the elf-woman on the other side for a moment before returning his gaze to the embers.  
Arya was busying herself with braiding pieces of grass together quietly, a habit she took to whenever the duo stopped to camp during the evenings. Eragon had witnessed her fantastic handiwork and marveled at the precision she was either born with or managed to hone all of her long, long life.  
Glancing up at her again, he noticed the elf was almost finished halfway with her project. Didn't she just start minutes ago? He thought, but tossed it aside quickly. He knew the elves worked with magnificent speed, dedication and speed in with their crafts, and Arya seemed no exception. She worked with grace, speed, and precision, all common elven qualities. It made Eragon almost want to be full elf.  
_Think of the things I could do…!_

By the time Eragon finished his thought, Arya had completed her projec, and she held the sculpture out for Eragon to see, almost timidly. The Rider could only stare in awe.  
She had crafted a scale replica of a dragon out of pieces of grass. The dragon had its wings fully splayed out, and was poised to take off into the skies. The model was so accurate, neck spines lined the grass beast's neck and tail, and spurs tipped its tail and wings.

"There is no way to capture the full beauty of dragons in a small model such as this," Arya suddenly said, jarring Eragon from his transfixion with the dragon.  
"but hopefully, you or Saphira can appreciate it." Arya held the small grass creature closer to her. "Flauga sjon Eragon."  
The dragon became free from inanimate bond and took to the air, avoiding the fire and landing in Eragon's lap. Awed, he picked it up, happy that he could observe the dragon closer.  
"It looks just like Saphira. I'm sure she'll love it," Eragon looked up at her, smiling, "I do."  
Arya smiled as well, portraying only a slight amount of humble embarrassment.  
"The sun has almost vanished. Perhaps we should put the fire out."  
"Yeah."

They proceeded to scoop dirt onto the fire, smothering the flames and embers until they were no more.  
Eragon and Arya sat in dim silence for a while, giving Eragon's mind time to wander. He wondered about Roran and Katrina and Saphira, if they had made it to the Varden yet; about Nasuada, and how she was handling everything, including his absence; about Sloan, and where he had managed to wander up to now; about Murtagh and how-  
His wandering mind slammed headfirst into a wall of bad memories, each fragment of the mind-wall containing his thoughts and memories of his…brother. That word suddenly sickened him. Eragon considered him and Roran brothers; he barely acknowledged the possibility of _Murtagh,_ traitor of blood and trust,being a true relative. Yet the fact still hit him and hurt him whenever the thought crossed through his mind. But sometimes- and that was now a very rare sometimes- , the thought of being Murtagh's brother appealed to him, once he thought about it enough. He was a decent enough man- well, he was before. He was kind, to Eragon, anyway, respectful, and talented, both with a book and a blade. As a bonus, Murtagh was a very attractive person.  
_F-for a man, anyway..._ Eragon added quickly added. He didn't go around looking at men comparing them to his brother, so on his own personal terms, Murtagh was genuinely good-looking.  
_I am a strange man for thinking of things like this...about my traitorous brother, to make it better!_ He was grateful Saphira wasn't around to intrude on his thoughts; she'd probably have some very sarcastic comments to put in.

Not realizing how long they had been sitting there, Eragon finally yawned and announced that they should rest.  
"We should get a lot of rest if we wish to reach the Varden, hopefully, by tomorrow." Arya agreed, sliding over to her bedding and lying down. Eragon managed to steal one more glance of her before he retired as well. On his way to the bedroll, Eragon decided that Arya might look better with her raven hair cropped to her shoulders, perhaps mounted on a ruby-red dragon sporting armor instead of a dress.  
_Uhm, okay..._  
His thoughts both unsettled him and created an uneasy, strange feeling as he laid his head down to sleep.  
_You're a strange one, Eragon..._ He imagined Saphira saying to him inside of his mind; a small smile appeared on his face as her imaginary voice filled his head.

Eragon didn't have much luck sleeping that night, but he did have plenty of dreams to keep him occupied through the dark night.

XX---XX

MUAHA. Not much to say here except…the next chapter is bettar, I swears! 83

So leave your comments, suicide letters, top-secret lobster bisque recipes, darkest secrets, sexual invitations, ransom notes, and anything else you can think of in a Review! Tell me how much you hate my guts and wish me dead, and I will applaud you and your lack of a properly functioning brain. =D

Wooo…Later!

_Wango Tango_


	2. Painful

**_Chapter Twoo. =D It's LONG. For me, anyway. XD I had nothing to do, and the entire chapter was typed on my phone, so I decided to re-type it up now! Yeey. This chapter's more about the lovely-and-all-powerful Murtagh than Eragon._**

**_So enough of my bullshit, let's start!_**

**_Oh, wait, disclaimer. XD DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Inheritance Cycle. If I did, oh-ho, that book would not be filed under Children's Literature. I also don't own Armor For Sleep, the band whose lyrics I based most of the lyrics on. Actually, it's their lyrics; I just added and subtracted some words here and there. ^^_**

**_OKAY. Enjoy!_**

**_XX---XX_**

Thorn touched the land of the clearing gingerly, not wanting to disturb any unnecessary things at this time of unstrapped himself from Thorn's saddle and slid off of his dragon, looking deep into the surrounding trees and trying to pierce the shadows of the dense foliage.

_How do we go around searching for people in the middle of _this_? At night?Well, YOU go around and search for any warm fires or signs of survival attempts. I can stay here. I'm much too big to fit in the forest to help you and not cause a disturbance._

_Hmph…Fine. I'll go. _Murtagh picked a direction and disappeared into the brush and brambles of the forest, slightly grateful that he could still feel Thorn's consciousness brushing against his own. As he went further into the tree's domain, he began to feel very…alone. Even though he'd hidden out in these forests at night before, he was so used to Thorn being there now that he was a bit afraid of being encompassed in true loneliness.

Pushing through the branches and stumbling through the forest floor, Murtagh felt the urge to strike a conversation up with Thorn inside of his mind to fight off the suffocating silence. Even the bugs seemed quiet tonight.

_Thorn?_

_Yes?_

Murtagh was suddenly unsure about what to talk to his dragon about. He'd shared secrets with his prided beast before, making him swear sometimes in the Ancient Language that he wouldn't tell them to anyone. Though they sometimes didn't get along and weren't the best of friends, Murtagh knew he could confide most anything in only himself and his trusted dragon.

But did speaking of his feeling for Eragon cross the line?

_I've- been thinking about something lately. Someone. _

_Yes, I know. I've had to listen. _

_Oh…that's right. So you've heard my…musings about Eragon. _

_I have. _

Murtagh stopped and drew his sword to cut through a tough branch that was blocking his path. He continued walking, sheathing his father's blade.

…_Care to give me _your_ thoughts? _

Thorn was quiet for a few cold minutes. The silence began to creep up behind Murtagh once again with the silence of Thorn's voice.

_Eragon is…our enemy. _

_Yes. _There was hesitation in Murtagh's voice.

Though he hates Galbatorix and his reign as much as you…or I. So he is not all bad, yes?

_Yes. Yes, but he is still our enemy. _

_Then I believe that you should do what is right. What you think it right. _

_But…he is my brother! _

Murtagh slammed his blade into the soft ground then, letting out a short scream of barely released frustration. He dug Zar'roc farther into the ground, then jerked the blade out in a huff of anger.

_I love no living brother of mine, so I can not experience for myself the confusion you must feel, Rider of mine. My apologies for not being of more help to you. _

…_Yes. It's alright, I suppose. I just- nevermind. _

Murtagh could now vaguely smell the remains of a fire put out a while back. He quickened his pace, lightening his step when he broke suddenly into a clearing occupied by two sleeping people.

_Found two… _

Thorn just snorted his acknowledgement over their mental bond.

Murtagh snuck up to the larger of the two forms, peering down at the person with an emotionless expression. He tilted his head, trying to see if he could recognize the person below him. It was surely a male- but for a man, he was so fair, so fragile looking when he slept. When the traveler shifted in his sleep, he struck an eerie resemblance to-

_Eragon. _

_Eragon? _Thorn echoed. Murtagh didn't answer, he only knelt down beside the sleeping man as quietly as he could.

It was Eragon- but he seemed a different person as he slept. Even after the strange elf ritual that drastically changed him, at that moment, he put every elf in Du Weldenvarden to shame.

A gloved hand hovered inches away from Eragon's flawless cheek; Murtagh longed to touch him. Just there. Just once. But he knew he couldn't. He reminded himself of the bitter poison that would sting his soul if he so much as touched the object of his affections so tenderly.

For a moment, Murtagh decided to hell with the consequences- and removed a glove, almost touching Eragon for a split second before recoiling. For some reason, he just…_couldn't. _

_I can't touch him. He is my enemy. He is my brother. _

XX---XX

Arya shifted in her bedroll, almond eyes fluttering to awareness. She heard the crunch of dirt a propped herself up on one elbow, looking over the dead fire pit at Eragon.

She saw only a black, kneeling figure, who's back was to her. He slowly stood up, unaware of her existence.

"Eragon? What are you doing up?" She whispered harshly.

Eragon whirled around to look at her, and Arya realized that it was an intruder.

"Ch…" The stranger said to the night air, whirling on his heel and sprinting off into the trees.

"Who…? Eragon!" She hissed to the sleeping boy, who she could now see sound asleep on the other side of the dead fire. He shook his head and sat up, looking over to Arya with a slight confused expression.

"W-what?"

"You didn't sense him? There was someone here, right next to you…!"

Eragon raised an eyebrow at his elfen companion. He could have sensed someone right next to him, even submersed in his dreams, unless they had concealed themselves with magic. But he didn't feel harmed, nor altered in any way. He felt almost…calmer then when he fell asleep. Eragon frowned.

"I didn't feel anyone. Did you see what he looked like?"

"I thought he was you. He looked and was built very similar."

Eragon's breath hitched slightly in his throat.

"Which way did he go?" he said quickly. Arya pointed in the direction the man departed. Eragon grabbed a small, enchanted dagger burlied with wards and spells to make it near as strong as a decent sword from the depths of his bag and pulled out with it Aren, Brom's sapphire ring. He stumbled out of his bedding and glanced over at Arya.

"Stay here…I'll find him."

"Eragon-"

"Stay."

Arya said no more, clearly in no mood to argue. She sat up fully and crossed her leg, throwing a few branches into the fire pit before muttering, "Brisingr," and watching the twigs burst into flame. Her face glowed with a strange orange tone as she looked up at Eragon.

"Ganga, then."

He nodded, gripping his dagger and disappearing into the brush with the grace and speed into the elf.

XX---XX

Murtagh perched himself like a hawk from the sturdy branch, gazing down at the black expanse of forest ground below him. He extended his consciousness out and told Thorn to do the same, searching for the barred mind of Saphira.

Eragon never travels without her, yes? Thorn growled in Murtagh's mind, his red-tinged consciousness as far as it could reach.

Yes…where is she? Murtagh gripped the strong tree branch beneath him, swinging himself down and hitting the dirt with a muffled _thud._

If Eragon is here, she should be as well.

Why do you search for them so now, Murtagh? The soldiers will-

Go to waste? All the time the spellweavers used up will just go to waste if I capture Eragon and Saphira here? If he intercept Eragon from reaching his destination, Surda, Galbatorix will have an easier time crushing them. I don't want to, but…I have to. …You know the feeling.

Thorn was silent, leaving Murtagh to the hush of the forest, his ears keen to any sounds wandering through the trees.

The faint sound of dead leaves crunching under boots soon came to Murtagh's ear, the unexpected sound making him jump. He pressed himself against a sturdy oak tree, waiting for the sound to come closer. One of his hands, missing a glove, gripped the hilt of Zar'roc tightly.

XX---XX

Eragon's grip tightened around the dagger, his feet stepping gingerly through the forest, eyes flitting through the trees looming over him; he felt like the trees were all human, silently towering over him and passing unforeseen judgment on his slightly cowering form. They were like hushed eyes, always watching, ready to attack.

That's why Eragon nearly jumped out of his skin when a figure jumped from behind a tree, swinging a sword and bringing it down on Eragon. Swearing, Eragon blocked the blow with his dagger, grateful that the strength enchantments held. His eyes widened as a gleam of crimson flashed across his vision as the attacker drew back.

_No way._

Eragon backed up, his dagger poised for another blow. He squinted his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was really there.

Sure enough, Murtagh stood there, his father's sword raised and poised for battle. His black hair blended with the nighttime background all around them, his dark eyes gleaming with accomplishment.

"Murtagh…" Eragon's voice hitched in his throat; something about Murtagh seemed so…different. In the light, or lack of it, his deadly concentration gleamed with…something. Eragon just couldn't place it. It was an emotion, one that Eragon could recognize or ever remember feeling. Perhaps that's the reason he couldn't name it.

"Eragon." Murtagh's normal stoic and calm were ever present; the blue Rider remembered the man's calm nature clearly. Though he knew, most likely, Murtagh's reaon for suddenly finding them, he was still happy to see his brother.

But…why? He reminded himself of everything Murtagh had done, everything Galbatorix had made him do, and his happiness diminished. But only slightly.

"Why are you here?" Eragon asked, summoning feign bravery into his voice.

Murtagh took a cautious step forward; Eragon tensed for an attack. When no attack, only another step forward, came, he slacked his grip slightly.

"Where is Saphira?" Murtagh asked calmly.

"Not here." Murtagh chuckled softly, a sweet but grim sound.

"Okay then."

"Now answer _my_ question."

Murtagh didn't. Eragon knew full well the reason he was here, the Red Rider knew it. But a grim amusement rose in Murtagh when he thought about how Eragon knew why he was here, but he didn't at the same time. There was only a thin film separating Murtagh's duty and his need to find Eragon. Very thin. He was surprised that Eragon couldn't see through it.

Finally, he decided to speak, "You know why I'm here," was all he said. Eragon's grip on the small blade tightened. Then, suddenly, he laughed. Murtagh raised an eyebrow.

"Just try to take me prisoner. Without Saphira, it would be pointless to take only me."

Murtagh's lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. "On the contrary. I think Galbatorix will enjoy having you as a prisoner, or bait for your dragon, _brother_." With that, Murtagh drew his sword with his gloveless hand and swung it over his head and brought it down upon Eragon. Instead of blocking it, he rolled away, his back thudding against a tree. Jumping up, Eragon pointed at Murtagh and whispered something the Red Rider couldn't hear.

A sudden flash of light blinded Murtagh for a few moments, his vision clouded with splotches of blue and red and bright white. His dark, dazed eyes fluttered open just in time to parry a swift jab from Eragon's weapon. His vision still splotched and blurry, Murtagh stumbled forward, tripping over an outstretched tree root and falling on his stomach. Above him and to the right, he heard Eragon emit a soft, triumphant laugh. His temper flickering hotter, Murtagh slashed in the direction of Eragon's voice, rolling forward and recovering himself more or less cleanly. As his anger and embarrassment ebbed away, his sword lowered as thoughts battled in his mind.

_I wanted to see him._

_Not like this._

_I can still see him._

_He's trying to kill you!_

Sure enough, Eragon was at him again, his inhuman speed putting him not a few inches away from Murtagh in mere seconds. The Red Rider was beginning to pull away, but suddenly caught Eragon's eyes and became rooted to the ground. The blade dug into his stomach only a half-inch before Eragon ceased moving, too.

The pain in Murtagh's abdomen would leave eventually, but uneasiness and confusion he felt at that moment he knew might never subside. They had each other's eyes locked together and the key seemed miles away. They were close enough to feel each other's breath on their cheeks. Why did Eragon stop? He didn't know. At the moment, he didn't care. The pain had gone away now. The feelings remained. The key seemed no closer than it was before.

The sudden _thk_ of metal striking into soft dirt startled him, but didn't make him break the eye contact. Eragon dropped his dagger, perhaps. That was all it was. It was no reason to stop losing himself in Eragon's chocolate flavored eyes. Murtagh felt more like he was finding himself in those eyes than losing himself.

_Act, fool!_ A voice suddenly screamed in his head. If it was his own, or perhaps Thorn's, he couldn't tell. But the voice pulled him out of those eyes, and a hand suddenly wrapped around Eragon's throat, more out of intimidation than any genuine desire to strangle the boy. As if suddenly awakened, Eragon gasped and near jumped out of his skin. Murtagh slammed the Blue Rider into the nearest tree, his fre, ungloved hand pressed against the wood next to one of Eragon's pointed ears.

"Wha-?"

"Hmph. Ready to come peacefully yet?"

Eragon's rigid determination returned. "No."

Murtagh used to be ready and willing to capture his brother and return to the King. But something…something kept him from doing so. The same something that struck him during the battle at the Burning Plains. All of his determination bled away at that moment. He knew why. He didn't want to, but he did. It jarred him a little.

He knew now that this meeting was coming to an end. Murtagh was letting Eragon go; just once more. _Always _just once more, it seemed. Always one more severe punishment to bear through just to, most likely, do it all again. Before he released Eragon, he let a small smirk play across his lips. A question bit at him suddenly, and now might as well be the last time he could see Eragon again, so why not ask it?

"So, brother." His tone was very casual, as if they sat in a tent speaking as friends rather then two enemies in a cold and lonely forest.

"Are you still infatuated with that elf woman?" his smirk widened at Eragon's shocked, angry, and confused expression.

"What?…That's none of your business!" He seemed almost childish in the way he said it. It made Murtagh's twisted smile grow.

"I'll take that as a yes." In truth, it hurt his chest to take it as a yes. Badly. It added pain and silent, subdued rejection to the simmering pot of emotion inside of him.

Eragon didn't blush or color, as the Red Rider had anticipated, but instead let his guard down for a brief moment. A foolish move, but not one Murtagh was keen on taking advantage of right now.

"I- no. It's a no. We are friends. Always shall be." Eragon spoke with surprising will and ease to Murtagh; the Blue Rider used to be obsessed with winning Arya's affection sometimes. Murtagh's chest filled with relief, his smile growing on a true account. It was surprising how this small moment in time the Red Rider spiraling back to the better times he had spent with Eragon- back to the time when he fell in love with him.

Then, Murtagh noticed just how cold his right hand felt. It was placed just shy of a stray lock of Eragon's hair. He look hi hand from the bark, letting it hover near the Blue Rider's face for a brief moment before deciding against. He remembered his situation and feigned his usual malignance.

"Well, then. I take my leave now, Eragon _Shadeslayer._ but this is the last time I leave with no blood on _my_ sword. Count yourself once more among the lucky ones," Murtagh released Eragon and twirled away from him, gripping Zar'roc, which he must have dropped point-first in the soft dirt as well, and sheathing the blade.

"For now."

He stalked off into the darkness of the trees, breaking into a lung-burning, mind-clearing mad sprint once he knew he wasn't being followed and was heading in the right direction. He raced through the trees at what he felt was the speed of light, thinking of nothing but the pain in his lungs and of finding Thorn. He burst into the familiar clearing and saw Thorn, curled up in the middle of the clearing. To everyone but his Rider, Thorn could have passed for sleeping, dead, or unconscious. But Murtagh saw in the small visible part of his eyes thoughts, ideals, ad other things that were trying to decided upon in Thorn's juvenile mind. Murtagh tapped his consciousness, and the dragon uncurled himself, shaking his head free of any drowsiness and growling a greeting to Murtagh. The Rider climbed atop him and the beast took of into the sky, climbing the air as if it were a flight of stairs.

_What of Eragon?_

_He…got away. _Murtagh lied. Thorn would probably loathe him if he found out that he had let Eragon escape again.

The Rider sighed. He suddenly felt extremely fatigued. His chest hurt. His legs hurt. His untended wound hurt. His legs hurt. Everything seemed to start to hurt when around Eragon.

_I doubt that. _Thorn suddenly said, ceasing his flapping and letting himself glide on the air current.

Murtagh frowned, staying silent on the subject and closing it for discussion.

_Go higher._

Thorn obeyed, curving his sleek body up and flapping up into the clouds. Murtagh sighed. Lightheadedness took over his mind. He laid his head down on Thorn's muscular shoulder, attempting deep breaths of air in the ever-thinning atmosphere. It burned his lungs worse than the ground air did. He felt his wound start to bleed again as he expanded and contracted his stomach. His chest felt like it was filled with dragonfire, his lungs even worse. He did nothing to stop it. Just kept on breathing. Just kept on living.

Thorn sensed the pain in his Rider's body and descended slowly down to their normal flying height.

_What troubles you?_

He felt Thorn angle towards Uru-Baen. _A lot of things._

…_I don't want to go back_. Thorn mind-whispered, whimpering somewhere in the back of their minds.

Murtagh's frown deepened. The infantine tone and puzzled sadness in Thorn's voice made him want to cry even more.

_I don't either._

**_XX---XX_**

**_RAOR._**

**_Howzit? :3 =.= I like this chapter, but I don't at the same time._**

**_Next chapter…is coming soon! Maybe. ^-^_**

**_I have nothing left to say except SUPERFLYINGRAPEATTACK. Now I'm done._**

**_Please Review~! They make me bubbly on the inside. :D_**

**_Wango & Tango_**


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